His WHAT?
by Suburban Slasher
Summary: Ban's big mouth gets him in trouble. Rated for foul language and discussions of sex. One minor spoiler for Ginji's past, and PaulxHevn.


"His WHAT?"

by Princess of Pain

"Oh, _yes_! He's a little shy, at first, but once he got naked--"

"Holy Lord, I am not drinking heavily enough to hear about this crap," Ban groused. He glared at his cup of coffee, and sullenly wished for a good shot of whisky. That would flavor it up. Not to mention make Hevn's company more bearable.

"Ah, Hevn-chan? Don't you think that you're being a little too, uhm, crass?" How Ginji managed to come up with an entrance-exam word like that, what with the blood-draining boner he always got around the negotiator, was beyond Ban's capacity for reason. Of course, Ban didn't really get what the big flaming deal was about Hevn in the first place. Sure, she had tits, but he'd seen plenty of tits in his day. It took more than a good set of sweater-kittens to catch his roving eye.

... though, with that fire-red V-neck she was wearing... and the way she leaned her elbows up on the bar, propping her breasts up (way up) and out with the flats of her arms... soft, brazen curves of tanned skin... hoo.

"This place could stand a little well-spoken crassness," she said, laughing lightly, and waving her hand in a perish-the-thought sort of way. "Besides, it's a bar. People are supposed to swear and talk about their sexual conquests."

"This is a cafè," Ginji said.

"Gin-chan? Dearest?" Her smile was bright, a small sunbeam. "What are we sitting at, right now?"

The youth formerly known as the Lightning Emperor looked quizzically about him. Then over to Ban, as if his partner would get within five feet of this conversation. Then back at Hevn.

"... a bar?"

"Very good. Now, he wasn't _too_ big, which I like--"

Fuck whisky. Whisky wouldn't do. What Ban needed now was a good, strong dose of poison (or a chemical lobotomy). Himiko would gladly hook him up, but she was out of town. Rat poison might do just as well, if he ate enough of it, and he now felt like eating an entire warehouse of the stuff, if that was what it took.

"Stop it!" Ginji's forehead became one with the bar. "I'lll never be able to look at Paul again!"

The harpy, who was obviously enjoying her newfound skills in torture, engaged in selective deafness. "And he can move his hips like a piston--"

"Oh, god damn it," Ban said. If this wasn't his very favorite cup, he'd break it over her head. Maybe he could grab and use hers, before she could stop him...

"Like a WHAT?" In spite of his obvious horror, Ginji also appeared to be impressed. The traitor.

"And Paul's got the _cutest_ little mole, right on his--"

"--his what?"

Ban, Ginji, and Hevn all turned and gawked at the room's new, overly-cheery-and-cute occupant. In those moments, the recovery-service expert forgot all about Hevn's bull, and Ginji's Benedict Arnold tendencies, and even his own damned name. All was forgotten, blown asunder in the mind-shattering wake of one cataclysmic thought: of all the people walking the wide world, the absolute last human being who needed to know of the inevitably-perverted location of Paul's dermatological blemish was--

"Nothing, Natsumi!" Ban barked.

Her wide blue eyes reflected question marks. Damn it! He'd sounded either too sharp or too eager. Raised suspicions. "What'd you mean, Ban-san? I could have sworn I heard you three talking about--"

"Nothing, honestly," Hevn piped in. She sounded just like a dream, and for once, he was completely grateful for her charisma. "I was just kibbitzing, about this and that, and the boys were being my understanding audience."

"'bout the boss's mole?" Natsumi set down the stack of clean dishes she'd gotten from the back. "I heard that part. Where is it?"

All the spit in Ban's mouth dried up. Hevn looked completely thunderstruck, and as usual, his precious partner was excused from thinking up anything clever, due to a lingering case of Stupid. Natsumi's innocence fell to him. He always had to save the day.

Alas, he said the first thing that came to mind:

"His--toe."

Hevn snorted (as if she'd come up with anything better!). Ginji blew out a sigh, sounding as subtle as an exploding tire, and became a boneless puddle in his bar-stool. Ban picked up his cup and took a swig of coffee, praying fervently that the waitress would willingly buy that load of bullshit. If not... well, there were ways. He let his sunglasses slip a little lower on the bridge of his nose.

She stared at him, her long lashes batting as she confusedly blinked. Then, thank God, she giggled. "Aw, that's so _cute!_"

"That's what I said," Hevn said beneath her breath, then took a sip of her tea.

Whew. Crisis avoided. Innocence preserved for another day. Midou Ban was a genius--nay, an invincible hero. Even--dare he say it?--**a god.** He grinned to himself, and resisted a compulsion to nuzzle his favorite mug. Ah. All was--

"Quit yakkin' out here already! When the hell are you going to put some of your free time to use and get a real job, you lazy punks?" Paul snapped, as the topic of conversation made his grand entrance from the back of the Honky Tonk. He'd been number-crunching: there were smears of graphite on his hands and shirt-sleeves, and he had that special look of fury Paul only attained when both his calculator and his computer were on the fritz. Complex math put him out.

"Oh, hey, boss!" Natsumi turned around as she spoke, grinning and waving and sparkling. She opened her mouth to speak again, and in a moment of precognition not normally experienced by anyone who was not Fudou, Ban understood just how horribly he had messed up his life. There was no time to clap a hand over her mouth; there was no time to shout out a warning, or engage in subterfuge. There was only time to get up from his bar-stool, grab Ginji by the collar, and crouch down, preparing for the long, quick run he'd need in order to get out of Paul's range quickly enough:

"Ban told me about your mole! Can I see it?"

_-end-_


End file.
